Chapter 16
I didn’t hear from Mitch that night after work, though I kept checking my phone.
Was he regretting our encounter? Tying himself in knots about his upcoming appointment with Shoshana?
Or had I helped him get over his concerns?
I had no idea. All I knew was that I’d enjoyed our practice session a lot.
I even impulsively typed out a short message to him before I went to sleep: Am in bed, thinking of you.
Thanks for today, Px. But I quickly deleted it before I pressed send.
It sounded way too intimate, or even that I was perhaps having feelings for him. And I didn’t want him to think that!
The next morning, I was relieved that I hadn’t sent Mitch the message.
So I knew it had been the right decision.
Yet I still wanted some kind of contact from him.
It was nagging me after the experience we’d shared.
I wanted to know he was thinking about me a little.
Even a ‘Hey, how’s it going?’ would do. But I had received nothing by the time I got to work.
There was nothing for it but to go about my day and act normal, as Mia and I worked through the latest crisis, namely Dean the Groundskeeper leaving.
I say “crisis” because Mia was acting as though it was one, though I reassured her that we’d find someone just as good.
I think she was more annoyed because we’d worked hard to craft Dean’s Suite Noir persona, which was based on a cross between Christian Grey and Oliver Mellor from Lady Chatterley’s Lover.
He was an expert in extracting pain and pleasure on an equal basis, and our clients loved him.
‘Look, it’ll be fine,’ I said, swivelling in my chair, as Mia bemoaned Dean leaving for the fifth time this morning. ‘There are plenty of guys who work in the BDSM sphere who will be interested. I’ve already sent out some feelers—we could even go international.’
Mia perked up her ears at that. ‘Ooh, yes. Maybe an Italian?’
‘Yes, or a French guy. We could give him a Marquis de Sade persona,’ I replied.
‘Marquis de Sade,’ breathed Mia. ‘That sounds amazing.’
I smiled at her. ‘Exactly. We just need to do our research and get the right guy, but in the meantime, you shouldn’t stress about it, honestly. You’ll give yourself frown lines.’
‘Good point.’ Mia reached for the hyaluronic acid moisturiser she kept on her desk and massaged some into her forehead.
We worked in silence for a while, Mia now tapping away brightly on her laptop.
I glanced over and saw the heading Marquis de Sade Research and smirked to myself.
I was glad that I’d sparked her creativity, though I had created a rod for my own back.
Now I had to find a hot French guy who specialised in BDSM.
‘It’s Mitch’s first appointment tonight,’ commented Mia casually after a short but intensive bout of internet rabbit-holing. Some of the BDSM images she’d been showing me had made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. ‘Sounds like quite a full-on one too. I hope he does okay.’
My lips tightened at the mention of Mitch’s appointment. ‘Oh?’ I said stiffly. ‘Did you read the client’s list of requests?’
‘Yeah. It’s one of Lyle’s regulars. She obviously wants a taste of Mitch’s monster sausage.’
I almost choked. ‘Mia!’
She gave me a mischievous grin. ‘I don’t blame her. You weren’t there, but let me tell you, in the interview when he—’
I pushed back from my desk and said abruptly. ‘Um, I’m going to get some lunch. Do you want anything?’
Mia looked surprised at my interruption, then thoughtful. ‘Actually, I’m starving. Are you going to the deli?’
I nodded.
‘Then one of those croissants with mozzarella, dried tomato and chorizo, please. And a bag of truffle crisps. It must be all these BDSM photos. They’re giving me quite an appetite.’
I grabbed my purse and hurried out. Honestly, it was bad enough that Mia had test-driven Mitch’s cock in the first place, but did she really have to give me the details?
No matter how good it was, I didn’t want to hear about it.
Because it would only make it doubly difficult not to think about Mitch’s appointment with Shoshana, which was in exactly four hours and twenty-five minutes.
The tension in my shoulders increased as 5 p.m. approached, and the action was about to take place down on the first floor.
I had to stop myself from running a monologue in my head: Shoshana will be in the changing room now, Shoshana will be showering now, Shoshana will be lying naked on Mitch’s bed now…
It was seriously doing my head in.
So I did the only thing I could. I vacated the premises and scampered to the Tube. By 6 p.m., it would be all over bar the shouting, so to speak.
Until then, I needed to keep myself busy.
When I arrived home, I put on a holey pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt, donned rubber gloves, and threw myself into cleaning the bathroom with gusto.
Then I started in the kitchen and vacuumed the whole flat, even dusting and polishing all the furniture.
By the time I’d finished, I was sweating profusely, and when I checked my phone, it was five to six.
Thank God, I thought with relief. Nearly done.
When it hit 6 p.m. I poured myself a glass of white wine, grabbed a new block of dark chocolate from the treat cupboard, and collapsed on the couch.
It felt like a celebration. I’d survived Mitch’s first appointment without having a nervous breakdown!
I took a swallow of wine and sank back into the couch, closing my eyes, testing myself.
When no mental images of Mitch and Shoshana surfaced to torment me, I broke off a large square of chocolate and nibbled it, feeling pleased with my emotional stability.
I could do this. I could relegate Mitch back into his Suite Noir box and not want anything else from him.
My phone, lying on the now smudge-free glass coffee table, buzzed with an incoming call. I picked it up without looking at the screen.
‘Hello?’ I said pleasantly, mellow from the wine.
‘Hi, it’s Mitch.’
His deep voice reverberated over the line and clutched at my heart, bringing back all the pining that I’d done so well to keep at bay.
‘Um, h-hey,’ I stuttered.
‘Can I come over?’ he stated firmly without any preamble.
I could hardly register what he was saying, but then it sank in. ‘W-what?’
‘To your place,’ he said. ‘To talk.’
I swallowed nervously. Ambient traffic noise had appeared in the background as if he’d just left the building. ‘About your appointment?’
‘Yes,’ he said flatly.
Something happened, I thought. He needs to offload. I’m a friendly ear.
‘How… how did it go?’ I braced myself, really not wanting the details.
‘Not well. Look, can I come over? I don’t want to talk about it on the phone.
’ Mitch’s voice rose an octave, and I sensed he really needed my support right now.
But him coming to my flat wasn’t a good idea.
Yet, he did sound slightly desperate. If he were thinking of quitting, surely Mia would approve of a pep talk?
I gave in. ‘Okay, if you need to. I’ll message you my address.’ I tried to act casual, but my gut was lurching.
‘Thank you,’ he said, sounding relieved. ‘I really appreciate it.’
After we hung up, I messaged him my address and took several long swigs of wine straight from the bottle before I could stop myself.
No! Drunk Prim + hot Mitch = bad!
Hastily, I screwed the cap on and put it back in the fridge. I whacked the kettle on instead. A cup of strong black coffee. That was what I needed.
My phone buzzed, and I checked it. Mitch had sent a thumbs-up and: be there in twenty.
The realisation that I was actually going to see him hit me like a slap to the face, and I inhaled sharply. I looked down at my grungy old clothes and, black coffee forgotten, sprinted to the bedroom to get changed and fix my makeup. At least I didn’t have to tidy the flat!